As Roses Wilt
by hidinghere
Summary: Pam thinks she knows exactly who she is, but Tara brings back memories and emotions she'd long forgotten. Takes place after season 5.
1. Chapter 1

Fuck roses.

Some gifts I can understand. Like Chanel. Louis. Dior. Like that. A spicy closet for a spicy gal, and I'm spicier than Tabasco on pepper. As is the vintage red satin Versace dress I'm wearing tonight. And why, you may wonder, have I chosen to grace Bon Temps with this level of fashion? Mama has a date. But no vaguely European obstetricians for me, not tonight. More like a vaguely dominant baby vamp with anger issues and suicidal tendencies. Might work.

Might not. Either way she brought roses. Fuck roses. See the thing about roses is, dramatic pause, they die. In the sun, in the rain, in water, in soil, they die. What's the fucking point. But she's young, and therefore stupid. And it ain't like anyone else has brought me roses in the last century, so I suppose I have a tolerance. A slight tolerance.

I could feel her eyes on the back of my head as I tried to figure out what to do with the bouquet. Of course, it made fuck all difference what I did with them, but I guessed certain placements would seem less _tart_than others, since I had an audience and all. Tara stood at the entrance to my little kitchen, completely quiet. Now I'm all for the less talking, more doing approach, but apparently it wasn't that kind of party. Pity, but I do find Tara's banter entertaining, and I refused to die the true death by boredom alone.

Flowers in vase, water in vase, done. Swivel and smirk.

"Don't waste another minute telling me how beautiful I look Tara, I'm well aware," I say, giving her a grand opportunity for a comeback about how I look better than when that witch bitch melted my face.

"You're stunning Pam," Tara smiled, holding my gaze, "but you're well aware," she added with a wink. No real comeback, and a half-assed compliment. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

Tara caught it, chuckled, and let her eyes roam over my body. "Versace, circa 1500?",she asked, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.  
"Funny," I answer, "Circa 1978, the original collection, be honored," I drawl slowly, " and read a history book, they don't bite, but I do," I add, almost seriously. She can joke about my age to her heart's content, but Versace must be respected.

"Hate to break it to ya Pam, but I highly doubt the debut of the 'original collection' is present in any self-respecting history book," Tara said, mimicking my signature drawl. Cute.

But I don't say that. I just shoot her an "I'm dying of boredom" death stare, and say, "If this is your idea of a first date, I'm gonna have to start dating girls my own age".

"Actually, I think you'll like my idea of a first date," she said, every trace of her previous playfulness gone, "but if you don't, let me know, okay?", she finished, taking my hand and leading us out of the kitchen and through the front door.

"HELLO, my name is Pam, shy Sally never lived on my side of town. Honey, you'll know," I said, contemplating whether to let Tara hold my hand or not. Deciding against it, I slipped my hand out of hers, and followed that movement with a look that stopped her from asking why.

The sky was clear, and the moon was bright. The most peaceful night I'd seen since Billith Fucking Compton met the true death. Hell, we all almost met the true death that night. But wasn't the time nor the place to think about that. I politely sent Bill another beyond the grave "_Fuck You_", and turned my attention back to Tara, who was once again silent. She'd done well, these past few weeks. If I were the domestic type I'd say I was proud of her. She was strong for her age, and fear was a stranger to her. But even fearlessness has its limit, and foolhardy often became a more accurate description. And it pissed me off. Because if I lost Tara, I'd be forced to adopt the Little Red Riding Cheetoh, spawn of Billith.

"What's so funny?", Tara asked, and I realized I'd chuckled aloud at my Jessica joke. "Nothing," I said flatly, noting the slight disappointment in her eyes, before adding, "Firecrotch crossed my mind," with a smirk. Tara smiled, and said, "The poor girl can't catch a break with you," knowing whatever I was thinking wasn't exactly cordial.

We'd been walking for a while, and I hadn't worn Versace for a workout. At least not this sort of workout. Just as I was about to place my suggestions in the suggestion box called Tara's ear, Merlotte's came into view, and I didn't even attempt to suppress the groan escaping my throat. I'd worn vintage to sit among drunken rednecks.

Tara looked over at me, let out a somewhat...nervous chuckle, and said,"Don't knock it yet, Pam," quickening her pace, and leaving me to follow behind her. I huffed in faux exasperation, slightly enjoying Tara's obvious unease at the idea of me not enjoying our first date. And more so enjoying the view of Tara from behind. She'd chosen a gentle heather grey straight-leg pant with a cream top tucked in, with a matching belt around her slender waist, which peeked out from under a tight two-button cream blazer. To top it off, she wore a pair of pumps even I would consider borrowing. The outfit was somehow simultaneously hugging and flowing loosly around her curves, men's inspired but oh so feminine. Not a look just anyone could pull off, but Tara managed it with a sort of quiet confidence that left me somewhat impressed.

Tara had reached Merlotte's front door and had begun to open it, glancing back at me, arching her brow in curiosity. I realized my own was arched, I supposed it had been since I'd begun to watch Tara walk. I smirked at having been caught, and sauntered into the room as Tara held the door.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the place was devoid of redneck. In fact, it was completely empty, save for the quartet playing a low, sultry jazz tune in the far corner. The lights were dimmed and tinted violet, and the spicy soft scent of cinnamon flowed past my nose.

This was fucking romance.

The other corner of my mouth had risen to join its twin, turning my smirk into a smile I hadn't anticipated. I quelled it almost immediately, refusing to let my guard slip so easily. I'm Pam Fucking Swynford de Fucking Beaufort, hundred year old _killer_, not some soft little bitch dumbstruck by a taste of romance. A lone rose lay on the only remaining table on the floor, and I audibly growled at it. What was it with her and the fucking useless roses? And why the fuck did I even agree to attend this fucking date? I don't date. I eat, I fuck, I kill. I don't fucking date.

I turned back and shoved my way past Tara, fighting the urge to leave altogether, and mumbling something about having to powder my nose. Tara had attempted to say something, but I'd closed the door to the ladies room before she had a proper chance. I needed to get my head on straight. I'd gone too quickly from happy to pissed the fuck off, a problem I hadn't had since my human years. I'd spent too many of the last hundred years becoming who I am, who I was always meant to be. Strong, snarky, saucy, sexy, smooth. Wasn't going to lose that now, for the sake of a little romance. Suddenly I felt a tiny, but sharp tinge of pain seep through the bond. It knocked me out of my thoughts, and I realized then that someone was going to get hurt in this relationship, but it damn sure wasn't going to be me.

Best if I end this before it starts. And have a little fun while I'm at it.

Already wearing my fuck'em dress, I put on a smirk to match, and sauntered back into the main room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much, to everyone who reviewed, followed, and faved the story so far. Hope you all like this chapter as well. And sorry for the wait ! **

**Disclaimer: Sorry, I forgot to put this in the first chapter, but I don't own True Blood or any of its characters.**

Tara watched me like a hawk as I entered. She was leaning against the bar, feigning relaxation, but she was alert, apprehensive. The girl has good senses, I'll give her that much. But the poor child didn't stand a chance. Hurricane Pam was blowing into town, and she was in the way.

Hearing a change in music, I glanced around the room, focusing in on the string quartet in the corner. "Hey, you, Bernie and the Fucktets, out, _now_," I barked, snapping my fingers and pointing to the door. Moments later, Tara and I were alone.

I had no time to waste. Time is money, money is time, and I had a business on hold. So I walked straight up to her, switch in my hip and sex in my gaze.

"Pam, what the fu-?" she started, once I was within arm's reach. I pressed my finger to her mouth and shushed her, firm but deceivingly gentle. Silence. I raised an eyebrow at her, and let my finger fall down the length of her lips. I replaced the finger with my thumb, swiping it slowly along her lower lip.

"Uh, Pa-?" again she tried, this time a bit more subdued, obviously. I didn't feel like listening to her say anything. So I used my free hand to pull her into an upright position, and my body to back her into the bar. I replaced the thumb with my lips, dragging them across hers with malicious intent. This kiss was different from our first, more similar to every other kiss I'd participated in as a vampire. I was in control, and she was giving me what I wanted.

I let the hand no longer feeling Tara's lips slide down her jaw, over her neck, and past her chest to unbutton her blazer. I felt Tara attempt to shift our positions, but that simply wouldn't do. With vamp speed, I moved my hand back up to her neck, pushed her chin up and out of my way, and placed my lips on the base of her throat. I hovered there for a moment, needing my next move to be unanticipated.

Swiftly I ran my tongue up the length of Tara's neck, and slid my free hand over her center. Tara's fangs dropped immediately. Bingo. My teeth tugged at her ear as I unfastened her belt, and she turned her head to press her lips against mine. I bit hers, and slid my hand into her pants. Tara moaned loudly and let her head drop back, and her neck was exposed to me once again. I ignored the urge to bite there, instead choosing to attack her jaw.

My fingers started a brisk, steady pace over her center, and her knees became weak. I held her weight for a moment, and then let her down into the nearest barstool. Taking advantage of my leverage, I took a moment to draw back, just enough to see her face. What a fucking mistake. Tara was gazing at me with such bewildered longing that I had to look away immediately. I leaned back in, my movements becoming impatient. I needed to get the fuck out of dodge, but first I needed Tara to understand that this would not _ever _happen again. I positioned my mouth next to her ear, and drew in a deep breath.

"Tara, do you trust me?" I asked slowly, my tone clearly dripping venom. The words lingered in the air between us, but was finally replaced by a low moan. Tara was close, to a point of no return, but she heard me. A moment later, I felt her nodding yes, almost as vigorously as I was touching her. I let silence overtake the room once again, but started a dirty little countdown in my mind. Five...four...three...

"You shouldn't," I said, in a drawl sweeter than honey. Tara came. I had the southern courtesy to leave my hand where it lay, for the aftershocks. But as soon as she was done, I withdrew to an arm's length.

"That was fun," I announced, tilting my head and replacing my drawl with a light valley girl accent. The look on Tara's face made me drop the facade a little more quickly than planned, but I'd had enough fun for one night anyway.

"Time for us to get back to work. I have money to make, and you have money to make for me," I said firmly, meeting the newly formed glare in Tara's eyes with reckless disrespect. Silently daring her to try me. Silently wishing she would.

Her teeth were clenched, and her jaw twitched at my words. But she was silent, so I turned around and walked towards the door with the same stroll I'd approached her with. I heard her fasten her belt, but she hadn't made a move to follow me.

"PRONTO Tara, I haven't got all night," I drawled, not bothering to look back. I had already begun thinking about setting up a contract with a new Tru Blood manufacturer down in Florida.

"FIRST, Pam, this ain't 1895, and I am NOT your fucking slave. I thought we got that straight before I risked my life to save your bitch ass," she started, loudly, and I stopped walking. I shifted my weight to one leg, and placed my hand on my hip. But I didn't turn around. "SECOND," she continued,"I am NOT your fucking whore. Now I don't know what the fuck else you think I am, Pam, but cross those two off the list."

My own jaw had clenched during Tara's rant. Not because of the words, though, I actually found them rather amusing. My jaw had clenched at the amount of venom coming from her end of the bond. It was more than the expected anger. Ire. Like I'd never felt from another person, human or vampire. Always knew Tara was a feisty one.

I relaxed my jaw and curled my lip into a smirk. Then I turned to face Tara.

"Now don't you go getting uppity with me," I said, fully aware that I was replacing one of Tara's fonder memories of me with this one.

"You ain't seen uppity yet," she nearly growled, as she rose from her chair. That was a challenge if I ever did hear one. I vamp sped to her, locking eyes. Sure I had her full attention, I said, slow and clear, "Do you realize, with a flick of my wrist, you could be a puddle on the ground?"

"Fuck you," she spat.

"You haven't yet had the opportunity, Tara. Let's just say you owe me one," I winked, a honeyed husk coating my voice.

"Only thing I owe you is an ass-whoopin', Pam, " she said, her voice rising.

"Kinky," I said, raising my brow and wondering how much more it would take to completely drive her away.

Tara turned away, and a moment later I heard a bitter, yet authentic chuckle escape her lips. Well fuck me, the girl was already flying over the cuckoo's nest.

After a moment, Tara began to speak. "I don't know why I fucking thought," her voice low, shaky, but gaining strength, "that someone like you could actually have a heart, or a soul, or a conscience, or some other such shit that would make you worth a damn."

I swallowed involuntarily. "Now you know," I said coolly, shooting her a final glare of warning. I'd heard enough. I'd done enough. I turned to leave, but there were a few words left on my tongue. "May I make a correction?" I asked, my drawl low and nasty. "I'm worth twice my weight in gold, honey, and that's a _whole_ lot of damn."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to everybody who left a review for the last chapter. I really do appreciate them. This chapter is a bit different from the last two, so**  
** please drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing. Longer chapters? More from Tara? How do you all feel about me adding a new character?  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood :/**

Once upon a time, there was a fairy fucking princess called Sookie. My progeny fucked off to her castle. The end.

Here's a real story. I have a house in Bon Temps. A quant little two bedroom, not too far from Merlotte's. I never cared much for it, though.  
I've always preferred the rhythm of Fangtasia. Even as the sun begins to rise, I can feel the night's events resonate in its walls.  
Never fails to make me look forward to the next night, the next bar fight, the next big spender.

When Eric and I first moved to the area, he had Fangtasia built from the ground up. He bought the house for me and purchased one even further from the city for himself. I didn't want it really, but Eric insisted I have my own place. I slept there every day for a while, to humor him.  
But the quiet was agitating, too much so. So as soon as Fangtasia's basement was finished, I had a coffin delivered. When Eric asked about it, I told him I wanted to be closer to supervise the construction. He didn't buy it, of course, but he never said anything more.

At first, I only slept at Fangtasia one night per week, but it quickly grew into two, sometimes three. Before its grand opening, it was obviously quiet there too. But it was a different kind of quiet. It wasn't _missing _anything. Fangtasia was meant to be empty during the early hours of the morning, and as the sun set. The little house in Bon Temps was meant for a family. Fuck families.

I had Eric, I have Eric. I got him back now, and he's all I need. Anyway, back to Fangtasia. It eventually opened, and I began to sleep there daily. It was my idea of comfortable. Eric noticed my sleeping pattern immediately, but still said nothing to me. He just rehired a few of the construction workers, and told them to build me a walk-in closet. Have to love that man.

A fight broke out a few nights after our grand opening, two baby vamps fighting over some fangbanger like the dumb fucks they were. I swiftly knocked the shit out of both of them, and just as quickly moved our patrons' attention back to our scheduled entertainment. After I was done, I turned to see Eric smiling amusedly at me. He hadn't originally given me any specific position at the club, allowing me to choose how, or even if, I wanted to help. But after that incident, he requested that I manage the floor for him while he handled other matters in the office.

I loved my new job, and the power that came with it. While Eric was absent, it was my floor, and if anyone had a problem with that, they could _politely _get the fuck out. But most nights at Fangtasia went smoothly, and the atmosphere was to die for, literally. I'd died, Eric had killed me, or rather I killed myself, and Eric saved me, allowing me to live this sexy, exciting, but still so comfortable life. I could live in Fangtasia for another century, without a doubt.

But after Bill tried to kill us all, I thought I'd take a day off. Or that Tara deserved a day off. She didn't seem to mind working there, but I  
know she doesn't love it the way I do. Even though she was willing to fight for it. Kill her sheriff for it. Or for me, because I love it. _Whatever_.

Anyway, I thought I'd take her to my house in Bon Temps. It was different, being in the house with her. She was easy company. We didn't talk a lot, but the silence was comfortable. We fell into a rhythm, so unlike that of Fangtasia's, so unlike any I've ever felt, but still so familiar.  
The quiet that had previously seemed to envelope me wasn't at all present. Every twilight, just before bed, or just after waking,  
I told myself I'd go back to Fangtasia. Every night, I'd leave the master bedroom and lean against the doorway to the family room, sweeping my eyes over the place, trying to remember why I didn't come there more often. Every night, a few minutes later, Tara would slip past me, smile and yawn her good morning. Every night I reminded her that we were vampires, and it was actually far from morning. She'd laugh and apologize, and I'd raise an eyebrow at her. Every night, I put Fangtasia off, just for one more night.

Until our date night, that is. We'd been in the house a little over three weeks, and I'd begun to expect our routine more than I knew.  
That night, I'd awoken and dressed for the occasion before I left my room. I walked to the family room, waiting for Tara to come in. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. I should've taken longer to dress than Tara, and she tended to rise only half an hour or so after I did. I did some quick math, figuring it'd been over two hours since I'd awakened, and I was suddenly overcome with anxiety. I walked to her room, tapping her door in quick succession. No answer. I opened the door, and Tara was nowhere to be seen. I noticed her coffin was still closed, and the anxiety I felt instantly turned to dread. I wanted to rush to her, but I couldn't move.

As a young vampire, I'd heard stories. Stories of newborn vampires who weren't able to tolerate their own blood. I was told it happened mostly to unusually strong baby vamps, and that I was normal, I should make it past the newborn stage with ease. I always assumed the older vamps who told the stores were just bullshitting, trying to get a rise out of me. But Eric had never confirmed or denied their stories. I supposed he was trying to scare me as well, or trying not to.

But as the stories went, if a newborn was too strong, it meant her blood was too strong, the venom too deadly. The body takes time to adjust to housing vampire blood, the veins themselves must undergo a transformation. For the average vampire, this process goes smoothly, the blood actually aiding in the reconstruction of our veins. But as legend has it, the blood of certain vampires actually destroys their veins. It happens suddenly, during sleep, without any prior warning. With veins no longer strong enough to carry the blood, it gathers at the heart, building pressure until it effectively drives a stake through it. It is supposedly the most painless of all the true deaths. As if anyone has lived to confirm it.

The night Tara beat Jessica's ass in Fangtasia, those stories had crossed my mind. Jessica was at least a year older than Tara, but Tara would've wiped the floor with her. I was impressed really, but I did wonder if the stories held any truth, if Tara would make it past her newborn stage. It honestly didn't make much difference to me whether she did or not, at least at that point. But a lot had changed since then.

So I stood there, just staring at her closed coffin. My senses were completely clouded. I was feeling some sort of _emotion, _and this was where it was supposed to dissipate into anger. But I had no one to be angry with. And I had no one to take my anger out on. I was alone. That was the only sense I could make out. I knew I was alone in my house, and the quiet was suffocating, mocking me.

I closed my eyes, attempting to gather myself, or to stop myself from reaching a state where I'd need to gather myself from. I tapped into our bond, for a glimpse of anything. Nothing. I couldn't bring myself to open her coffin. I'd call Eric, he'd take care of it.

I turned to leave, to find my cell. Then I heard the front door creak open.

"You ready, Pam?" Tara called in. Oh fuck me. She was alive. What the fuck was wrong with me? How did she know how to turn off her end of the bond so completely? Why would she want to? Why did I assume the worst? And why couldn't I just look in the fucking coffin?

In summation, what the fuck.

The anger I'd been waiting for was rolling in, but not as strongly as it would have if...just not as strongly as it would've. It wasn't enough to take out on her, just enough to balance my head and allow me to act as I would normally.

"Yeah, Tara, just a second," I said. I walked towards the front door, purposely slowing my step. Tara was facing me, quietly closing the door behind her.

She smiled widely and I felt a flood of warmth flow through the bond. So she did know how to control it. She had one hand behind her back, hiding something.

"I got you flowers. I didn't know what kind you liked, so I thought I'd stick with the classics, ya know?" she said, revealing a large bouquet of fresh red roses.

She'd turned off her end of the bond so I wouldn't know she was buying me fucking roses.

I thought she was dead, and she was at the _fucking florist_.

Ugh.

Fuck roses.

And that concludes my trip down memory lane, or whatever the fuck that was.

Ten days had passed since our little date. Ten days since I'd seen her. Ten days since I'd felt even the slightest emotion from her end of our bond.

Not that I was fucking counting.

Now I'm back at Fangtasia, getting the business back on its feet. After the date, I came here immediately. I invited Tara to stay in my house. Implicitly. As in I didn't kick her out. I thought she'd stay with Jessica, actually. But it seemed Tara had forgiven Sookie for asking me to turn her.

The next night, Eric informed me of her location, and I asked him if he thought I cared. He only gave me a pointed look and changed the subject.

Since then I'd hired a few new dancers, a couple experienced bartenders, and a new bouncer. All the background checks went through fine, with the exception of the bouncer's. He's a vampire by the name of Charles, I'm guessing around the age of 75. Charming guy, originally from England, from what he said. I normally follow through myself, checking for inconsistencies in stories. But he'd managed to stay off the internet almost entirely. Although that rubbed me the wrong way, I hired him, because my old bouncer had fucked off in my previous absence, and I needed a replacement before reopening.

I'd also been negotiating a contract with a new Tru Blood wholesaler down in Florida. Called themselves Pure Blood LLC. Shadier characters than any I'd worked with recently, but I'd be damned if they tried to screw me over. I didn't quite know who I was dealing with yet, but neither did they.

I was faxing a new proposal over to the friendly folks at Pure Blood when the phone rang.

"Fangtasia, what do you want?" I drawled.

"I thought you'd like to know Tara's on her way to come get the stuff she left there," Sookie said, with urgency in her voice.

"Great," I said, my tone positively dripping in faux enthusiasm.


End file.
